Masked Avengers of Gotham Mundo
by IDespiseTragedy
Summary: In Gotham City, a man wore a bat costume and became a hero known as "Batman". In Gotham Mundo, an Arrancar wore a bat costume and became an avenger known as "Batman". Non-romance.
1. The New Butler

**Masked Avengers ****of Gotham Mundo**

Disclaimer: _Bleach_ and _Batman_ are not mine, of course

Warnings: total AU & AR; no romance & no citrus / friendship only; abusive language; multiple antagonistic characters' death

Thank you for the following grammarian, consultant, beta reader and critic:_ B__loodyCrystal, sandrilenefatoren2, mysticlegend11, Haleybird, Orange Headphones_

* * *

CHAPTER I

**The New Butler**

Skyscrapers raced against one another towards the murky sky. Industrial smoke spouted from the tall black chimneys, filling the stale air with their asphyxiating odor. The trashcans on the somber alleyways were crowded with scavenging rats, unaware of the lurking cats that were ready to strike at the precise moment. Lights adorned buildings and streets alike to welcome night time. Yet, these lights could do very little against the thick fog that loomed over Gotham Mundo that day.

A sleek, black limousine slid like molten ebony down the dimly lit streets, heading home after an evening out. Inside, the driver with gray, wispy hair turned to address the passenger seated behind him.

"You are really too kind, Master Ulquiorra. After all, no reward comes to those who hide behind a mask." He winked at the twenty-two-year-old passenger in question, who sat with his arms crossed. The casual, expensive suit that covered up to half of his neck accentuated his slender frame, and dark hair hung loosely around brilliant green eyes. Before Ulquiorra could answer, a taxi came hurling out of an adjoining street without warning and rammed full-speed into the left side of the luxury sedan. A loud scream of colliding metal pierced the air.

Ulquiorra's eyes widened as the momentum threw him against his seat belt. He could not see anything through the thick smoke and exhaust clouding the inside of the now motionless car, so he struggled with the door handle. It was jammed, but it gave way beneath his weight and he climbed out of the limousine. He turned and tried to open the driver's door of his own car, where the unconscious driver sat slumped over the deflated airbag. The door was jammed, and Ulquiorra could not open it as easily as he had opened his own due to the twisted, overheated metal.

"Alfred!" He called at the window.

Nevertheless, Gotham's most affluent bachelor was not the only one with only minor injuries. After a thirty-second interval, the taxi driver stumbled out of the driver's seat of the beaten-up taxi that had collided with them: a blue-haired youth, hardly affected by mundane injuries, coughing hoarsely and waving a hand in front of his face in attempt to clear the smoke. While talking to the 911 operator, all the while he made expressive hand gestures and glared at everyone who looked towards him in curiosity. After all, his practically uninjured state seemed like a near miracle when compared to the damage that his car had taken.

The moment these youths' eyes met, they realized that they shared one common trait: they had died once.

***

While quietly stepping out of Alfred's hospital room, Ulquiorra saw the taxi driver yelling at his employer. "You can't sack me! The geezer didn't die in that accident! Heck, rich boy n' me walked away wi' nothin' but a bruise 'r two!"

"I don't give a damn! How many years do you think it will take your salary to cover today's car repair, let alone all of the other damages, Jaegerjaquez?!"

The so-called Jaegerjaquez was about to shout back, but his employer pointedly turned his back to the youth and approached Ulquiorra.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. Such an incompetent driver will surely not be a part of our company in the future. Why, he's still green, sir, not even fit to drive golf cart; in fact, I've fired him just now…" The business owner prattled on, roundly bashing his twenty-three-year-old ex-employer's reputation and intelligence, and Ulquiorra noticed that the driver in question had taken the opportunity to slip away from the scene behind his boss's back. Ulquiorra excused himself, politely but firmly, and followed the other with swift strides.

"Wait!" Ulquiorra called as the ex-taxi driver pressed the down arrow, which now glowed a sickly yellow. The ex-taxi driver ignored him and stepped into the elevator.

The ex-taxi driver ignored him and stepped into the elevator.

Ulquiorra strode forward and put a hand on the sliding door, holding it open.

"What d'you want now?" The newly unemployed man glared. "Can't sue me. Ain't got no money."

"I need a temporary replacement for my chauffeur and butler. Alfred will be hospitalized for an indefinite amount of time, and−" Ulquiorra began.

The frustrated youth cut him off. "Many will _beg_ t' work for a moneyed man like you."

"I need one now, and I see an unemployed candidate right here." Ulquiorra let go of the door as he stepped inside the lift and let it slide shut, cutting the two of them off from the hospital wing.

"Why'd you want _me_?! I wrecked your limo!" The uncouth youth gave a slightly crazed laugh. "You want me t' be your driver? Why don't'cha try n'_ make_ me?" He challenged, a condescending snarl touching his lips. He then rolled up his shirtsleeves in a threatening manner, revealing well-trained biceps.

"As you wish." Before Jaegerjaquez could blink, Ulquiorra leaped behind him and slammed his face none-too-softly into the elevator's control panel. Jaegerjaquez felt something give way under his nose, and realized that he had accidentally pushed the 'ground floor' button.

The ex-taxi driver began to sweat, and shifted into a more comfortable position. His opponent had a smaller frame, but his speed was incredible. _Interesting_, he smirked. They had begun on the seventh floor, and now only had about seven seconds until they reached the hospital lobby below.

Six seconds. With a grunt, Jaegerjaquez ripped himself from Ulquiorra's strong grip and launched his fist. The last time he had done this, a pro-wrestler who had gotten in his way was sent to the hospital in an ambulance, and he did not intend to reduce his power merely because his opponent was smaller.

Five seconds. Ulquiorra caught his attacker's large fist in one hand. _No way!_ Jaegerjaquez' eyes widened. _He's stronger than he looks.  
_  
Four. Ulquiorra went on the offensive, ramming his opponent in the stomach and bringing the latter to his knees.

Three. Before Jaegerjaquez' knees had fully touched the ground, the richer man grabbed his wrists and yanked them behind his back.

Two…

When the door finally slid open on the ground floor with a quiet "ping", the two men walked out silently and discreetly. The one in front walked with utmost tranquility, and several in the lobby gave him respectful acknowledging nods. The one walking behind him wore a disgruntled expression, though could no longer be called jobless.

"You expect me to drive you home in dis beat-up matchbox?" The new chauffeur asked in disbelief once they reached the hospital's parking area.

"The exterior was ruined, but most of the mechanics on the interior are still fully operable."

Sure enough, after a couple of minutes of emergency mending by Ulquiorra, the car purred to life again, although it still looked like it had been through the demolition derby. That the air conditioner was toast and one of the wipers was ripped off was the very least of their concerns. The new chauffeur could only stare blankly.

_Since this pampered prince could even mend a car…_ "You can drive, can't you?" He asked in confusion, only seconds after Ulquiorra told him the address.

His employer answered while climbing into the back seat. "I can."

"Then wha'd'you need me for?"

Ulquorra ignored this question and gave his new chauffeur the car key. "Get in. What's your name?"

Ripping out the dirty air bag, which was taking up too much space, he started the battered engine and answered through gritted teeth, "Grimmjow. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."

"There will be other tasks that you need to do besides driving, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."

"Don't'cha call me by m' full name; it creeps me out!"

At last, after long minutes of driving in silence, they pulled through the iron-wrought gates of Ulquorra's lonely estate, high on a hill overlooking Gotham City. It was as vast as a small amusement park, surrounded by a beautiful, well-tended garden and lawns. Even the grass was like that of a golf course, and the bushes were trimmed into sculptural shapes. The house itself, however, was an architectural masterpiece. The Georgian-style porch with antique, white pillars stood out in good taste against the beautiful slated roof and huge, expensive doors and windows. An immense crystal chandelier hung above the main hall, and a row of matching smaller candelabras bedecked the sides of the long corridors.

Stepping onto the immaculate marble floor, his new employer behind him, Grimmjow muttered, "Holy shit! You ain't expectin' me t' clean all this, are you?"

"Clean _and_ preserve," answered his new master mildly, as though it would not be a daunting task.

"No kiddin', man! There's no way one guy can do 'em all!" Grimmjow seemed to be ready for another confrontation.

"Alfred did them all by himself… and you put him in the hospital." Ulquiorra spoke with finality. "

"I dunno how to cook." This time Grimmjow's voice sounded nearly pleading.

"Order the food from a restaurant, then. There is a copy of the Yellow Pages next to each telephone in this house. Just sign the tab and the bill will go to my credit card. Your food bills as well," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Ev'ry meal?" Jaegerjaquez grinned, beginning to see the perks of the job. "Hey, I know you're so damn rich, but wouldn't it be better if you hire a chef instead?"

"If ordering food by phone bothers you that much, you can use an online service."

That was not the point, but how could he make someone like Ulquiorra Schiffer understand, showered with money as he was? Grimmjow could only utter a soft "Dammit!"

Ulquiorra stepped further into the entry hall, dress shoes making surprisingly little noise on the polished floor. "I'll show you to your room."

"_My_ room?!" Grimmjow nearly yelped. "I ain't sleepin' here! No way in hell!"

"Then be here by six A.M. on a daily basis."

"Six?! No friggin' way! It took an hour t' get here from da hospital, n' my house's even further!"

"Too early to leave your wife's bed?" Normally one would smirk while saying such a taunting, teasing question, but in Ulquiorra's case, his facial expression was as unperturbed as ever.

_He couldn't be _serious_, could he?_ Grimmjow tossed the issue aside. "Who says I'm married? How old d'you think I am? I've got five li'l brothers!" He mentally smacked himself for talking about himself so much in front of an almost complete stranger, employer or not.

"What are their names?"

"Lessee, there's Shawlong, Edrad, Ylfordt, Nakim 'n' Di Roy."

"Tomorrow, Friday, invite them over for dinner, and then return home with them for the remainder of the weekend... but you are to spend your weekdays here. You will need to be here by seven A.M. sharp on Monday."

"Wha'ever." There wasn't the slightest shred of reluctance left in Grimmjow's voice, only a bit of resignation, and this surprised him even more than it surprised his new boss, for Ulquiorra's attention was now diverted elsewhere. From the window behind his employee, Gotham's multibillionaire could see an easily recognizable bat-shaped spotlight shining onto the clouds above.

"The cleaning equipment is in the fourth room on your left… and the kitchen is the next door over." With that, Ulquiorra turned on his heel and left to climb the tall spiraling stairs leading up further into the house, quickly disappearing from sight.

***

Monday had come and gone, and Thursday night found Grimmjow sitting dutifully, yet looking out-of-place, in a bed of flowers in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. He glanced up at the sound of a loud crash from the balcony outside of the master bedroom, on the third floor. The night itself was heavy with a turbulent rainstorm, but he was sure the noise came from a heavy door falling off of its hinges instead of a thunderclap.

With the number of high-tech security devices securing the mansion, Grimmjow doubted that a thief could break into the Schiffer mansion, but he had an obligation to check nevertheless. Throwing down his soaked and muddy copy of '_Gardening for Dummies_', he went in search of the disruption.

In the west wing of the manor, right next to the master bedroom, was a closet for medicinal storage. There, Ulquiorra was standing shakily on a dangerously teetering chair, trying to get hold of a particular disinfectant on a higher shelf. He was soaking wet, and little rivulets of blood were blending in with the rainwater pooling at his feet and soaking his torn and bloody clothing. Various bottles, syringes and boxes of medicine lay in disarray, both on the shelves and on the floor.

"You're bleedin'!" Grimmjow remarked in surprise.

Ulquiorra dropped off the chair, shoved the closet door closed and began to limp back to his bedroom. With face and voice were as calm and stoic as ever, undoubtedly masking physical pain, he replied, "I'm fine."

However, his new chauffeur approached him instead, stabbing a finger towards his chest with a challenging gleam in his eyes. "I ain't blind enough t' not see da blood squirtin' from your chest 'n' leg!"

"I said I was fine!" Ulquiorra pushed Grimmjow's pointing finger aside and tried to walk past the young butler. However, Grimmjow would not accept that. He gripped the shoulder of Ulquiorra's shirt hard enough to rip off the uppermost button and reveal a gaping, bloodless, clean-cut hole straight through the center of Ulquiorra's collarbone. His boss cast a deadly glare in Grimmjow's direction as he hastily covered himself, holding the collar closed with his good hand.

Ulquiorra was prepared for the worst, yet neither mockery nor blackmail concerning his hole's morbidity came out of his butler's mouth. Instead, a foreign silence calmed the employee's face. Never before had Ulquiorra seen Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez so pensive.

"I'm used to seein' self-regen'ratin' bodies, y' know," Grimmjow said, a little apprehensively, as though he wasn't sure if his boss could trust him with the information.

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed at these words.

"That's wha' m' body is made of 'n' so're m' brothers'."

Ulquiorra decided to throw caution to the wind and pulled off his shirt the rest of the way, ignoring the pain from his wounded torso. Grimmjow's blue eyes fixed upon his employer's black, elegant tattoo of the number 'four', which was imprinted on the left side of his chest, an inch or so above his heart. Ulquiorra's most severe wound, located immediately below the tattoo didn't even faze Grimmjow.

"Dat tattoo…" Grimmjow's voice trailed off.

"My family's murderer was the one who gave me this tattoo," Ulquiorra answered the unfinished question.

"Look!" Grimmjow unbuttoned his own shirt to show his boss. There was a hollow hole on his lower back, through his abdomen, and a number 'six' tattoo near the right side of this hole. "D'you think there're others who've got numbered tattoos like ours? This tattoo was also left by th' bastard who finished off m'real fam'ly. My brothers are really kids wi' no blood relat'ns. Their fam'lies were all killed and they got holes in their bodies, but wi' out da numbered tattoo."

"You're gathering orphans to help search for your family's murderer?"

For the usually composed Ulquiorra Schiffer, such a remark was a bit too scornful and irked Grimmjow. "Wha' else c'ud I do?' Grimmjow glanced back down at Ulquiorra's nasty-looking gashes, along with the numerous little cuts and bruises. "Hang on, these wounds o' yours… why ain't they closin' by 'emselves? Why did your body stop regen'ratin'?"

"I don't know. I had no problem with self-regeneration before tonight."

There was only one possible cause for such a happening, as far as Grimmjow knew. However, he would prefer his assumption to be incorrect. The young butler leaned over and put his face closer to examine his master's gaping, bloody wounds, still dripping with blood. His nostrils flared at the bitter, coppery scent, by now long familiar.

"Were you hit by…" Grimmjow paused; his hesitation was marked by a stiffening facial expression. "… a weapon? Another Arrancar's weapon?"

Arrancar were endowed with high self-regenerating ability. The only thing which precluded such ability from happening was immense reiatsu, which was normally possessed not by humans but by other Arrancar. The moment his master peered defiantly at him, however, the butler understood that he had crossed an invisible line.

Masking his tone and facial expression with poorly feigned ignorance, the blue-haired Arrancar made his reply. "Well, wha'ever that was, you'd better suck up as much reiatsu as poss'ble. Human drugs got next to no 'fect on us."

"What is…," Ulquiorra pronounced the strange word carefully, "…'ray-atsu'?"

Grimmjow's eyes widened and his jaw nearly dropped ajar at the question. "You're kiddin'! There's no way for an Arrancar like you to not know what _reiatsu_ is!"

"What's an 'Arrancar'?"

This time Grimmjow's jaw did drop. After a few seconds had passed, he managed to answer, "When someone dies n' his or her soul don't move on, that soul becomes a Hollow. Hollows eat spirit-energy... s'called 'reiatsu'… But a Hollow c'n also eat another Hollow 'n' evolve into an 'Arrancar'. Honestly, how'd you even get to be an Arrancar wi'out knowin' dis much?"

Uquiorra said nothing, memories of the past washing over him with painful clarity.

***

That night, the eight-year-old Ulquiorra Schiffer had just come out of the theater with his parents. While they walked down an alleyway to where their car was parked, a man came out of nowhere, running his sword through the three of them. The last thing Ulquiorra remembered, before the grim reaper took them all away, was his mother's pearl necklace scattering on the ground, intermingling in disarray with the rose petals falling from his father's hand.

Shortly after death, his soul got separated from his body and wandered in search of his parents, but to no avail. He tried visiting all his relatives and friends, but none of them could see him anymore. His existence had become intangible. An incorporeal being.

A ghost.

On the other hand, different souls tried to devour him from place to place, one night after another. Yet, none of these was as scary as one particular gargantuan soul. Save for a white mask covering where the face should be, this soul was as black as the night itself. Its robust figure towered above even the tallest of athletes Ulquiorra had ever seen in life, and was stronger and more ferocious than any other souls he had encountered in his afterlife.

Accompanied by the hoot of an owl from a tree yonder, the child burst through the night, running from the predator who hunted him passing several dark and narrow alleyways. Ulquiorra did not know whether things such as second death existed, but death–his first death−did not take away the feeling of fear from him. He passed dampened streets with graffiti sprayed walls, trampling through some puddles on his way. No water splashed under his violent steps; he had no somatic substance to perturb the concrete world.

The chase continued until they arrived at a cave full of bats. The humongous soul latched onto his puny frame, and he could feel his existence being devoured, his resolute will to survive drove him into a trance. There were bats in his head, at least a thousand of them! The next thing he knew, he was sucking the souls of all the bats in that cave.

Replenished by the new energy within him, he transformed… transformed into a lean, pale, eerie figure, a horned skull atop his head and a pair of chiropteran wings on his back, borrowed from the bats he'd pulled the power from. A spear appeared in his hands−now black, claw-like things−and with this spear, he vanquished his opponent.

Up to this point, he had thought himself alone but for his enemy.

"You've managed to defeat a Gillian Menos−not bad at all, considering the short period of your Hollow transformation, boy," a chilling voice came from one corner of the cave. It belonged to man with brown hair slicked back except for a single piece which fell before his face, who was dressed in immaculately white attire.

Ulquiorra's instincts told him to attack, so he did. However, none of his newfound powers worked against this stranger. Actually, his opponent toyed with him without breaking a sweat, smiling slightly as claws and spear and blinding speed were used to their utmost limits… and still were utterly useless.

The man spoke again, "Don't you think he has the potential to become my Espada, Gin?"

"He certainly does, Aizen-sama," another man replied, stepping out of the shadows at the cave's back. He was silver-haired, smiling like a fox with a baby rabbit between its paws, and with eyes squinted shut with a kind of dangerous mirth. And furthermore, the shape of his short sword… this was unmistakably the very one who killed the Schiffers!

Ulquiorra gripped the lance in his hand and changed his target at once. But before he reached him, something hit him from behind and he lost consciousness.

When he came to, the murderer and his companion were gone. His lance had transformed into a sword, one with a green hilt to match his eyes, and eye-like guard. He named the sword '_Murciélago'_ or 'Bat', after the source of his transformation. His body had taken the form he was in now−physical, pale of skin, dark of hair, and green of eye, but with no wings attached.

However, the left side of his chest bore a number four tattoo…

***

"Hey, you okay? You've lost a lotta blood," Grimmjow looked concernedly at Ulquiorra, who swayed unsteadily on his feet, lost in thought. "… 'n' you ain't answered m' question."

"Mind your own business." Ulquiorra replied icily, coming out of his aching reverie. He had begun hunting for his parents' murderer after that night, his demonic masked form causing those who glimpsed his presence to dub him 'Batman'.

_Wha' an asshole!_ Grimmjow gritted his teeth. Had it been not for the bloody wounds on Ulquiorra's body, he would have tried to land a frustrated punch or two. Instead, he took charge of the situation. "Go change your clothes. We're leavin' in five minutes."

Ulquiorra only stared at him blankly.

"Da easiest place to get a reiatsu supply is at a cemetery. C'mon! I'm your chauffeur, ain't I?"

* * *

A/N: In case it isn't clear enough, Ulquiorra's transformation here looks exactly like in the canon manga (no man-made costume involved), with a mask as an addition. All the other transformations in later chapters behave likewise.


	2. The Midnight Duels

Thank you for the following grammarian, consultant, beta reader and critic: _BloodyCrystal, sandrilenefatoren2, mysticLegend11, Orange Headphones_

Some terminology reminders abridged from Bleach wiki before you start reading chapter two:

**Caja Negación** (反膜の匪 (カハ・ネガシオン), _kaha negashion_; Spanish for "Negation Box", Japanese for "Anti-Membrane of Negation") is a variant of the Gillian-exclusive ability Negación used to punish Arrancar subordinates by trapping them eternally in an alternate dimension. However, should the Caja Negación be used on an Espada, the Espada will eventually break out of the alternate dimension (usually within a few hours), due to their large amount of Reiatsu.

**Cero** (虚閃 (セロ), _sero_; Spanish for "Zero", Japanese for "Hollow Flash", "Doom Blast" in the Viz translation): Like all other Hollows, they can use this blast technique. The Espada user fires a laser blast of great, concentrated destruction.

**Bala** (虚弾 （バラ）, _bara_; Spanish for "Bullet", Japanese for "Hollow Bullet") is an Arrancar alternative to the Cero. The technique hardens the user's spiritual pressure and fires it like a bullet from their fist. Though somewhat weaker than a Cero blast, it moves about twenty times much faster than a Cero and can be fired at a much higher rate.

**Gran Rey Cero** (王虚の閃光 (グラン・レイ・セロ), _guran rei sero_; Spanish for "Grand King Zero", Japanese for "Royal Hollow Flash") is a particular, very strong Cero. To perform this potent variation of the Cero, the Arrancar first draws blood from the Cero-generating appendage using his or her Zanpakutō, then charges the Cero while mixing the blood with it. The result is a Cero with a much greater attack power and speed, as well as a change of color unique to the Espada.

**Garganta** (黒腔 （ガルガンタ）, _garuganta_; Spanish for "Throat", Japanese for "Black Cavity") is how Arrancar move to and from Hueco Mundo. It literally tears open the dimensional fabric separating the worlds, revealing a tunnel of whirling, torrential energy that must be focused and solidified to create a discernible pathway.

**Hierro** (鋼皮 （イエロ）, _iero_; Spanish for "Iron", Japanese for "Steel Skin") refers to the hardened skin of the Arrancar, which is a result of their compressed spiritual power. While their skin is strong enough to block even released Zanpakutō bare-handed, it is by no means impenetrable. Stronger Arrancar have proportionally stronger skin. Nnoitra Jiruga claimed his Hierro is toughest amongst the Espada; being of higher rank than Nnoitra, Ulquiorra's Hierro appears to be much tougher.

**Pesquisa** (探査回路 （ペスキス）, _pesukisa_; Spanish for "Inquiry", Japanese for "Probe Circuit") is the Arrancar equivalent of the Shinigami ability to sense Spiritual Pressure. It functions similar to a sonar. Using Pesquisa requires most Espada to enter a meditative state; however, Nnoitra has a variation of this technique that involves placing his fingers to the ground to determine an opponent's approximate location as well as the amount of Spiritual Pressure an opponent has.

**Sonído **(響転 （ソニード）, _sonīdo_; Spanish for "Sound", Japanese for "Sound Ceremony") is the Arrancar equivalent of the Shinigami Flash Steps and the Quincy Hirenkyaku; it allows the user to travel at incredibly high speeds for short distances. Use of Sonído is punctuated by a brief static sound, in contrast to the "swish" sound used for Flash Steps.

* * *

CHAPTER II

**The Midnight Duels**

It was nearly midnight when the multi-billionaire and his chauffeur reached the cemetery. From the dark nebulous sky above lightning struck every now and then. The rain tumbled down onto the murky gravestones. The door of the Bugatti Veyron–Ulquiorra's Rolls Royce Phantom limousine was still undergoing maintenance−opened and Gotham Mundo's most affluent bachelor stepped out onto the drenched sepulchral grass. The driver stood next to the parked car, savoring the wetness of the rain on his hair and clothes with arms folded across his chest as he waited for his employer.

While absorbing the souls of the recently dead−the moment they had arrived, he had felt the power hanging in the air like thick mist, and took it in with instinctive hunger−Ulquiorra sensed an enormous amount of the power Grimmjow had called reiatsu approaching. His driver had felt it too and unfolded his arms and shifted his weight into a fighting stance, preparing for whatever came.

The source of the reiatsu they had detected arrived in a matter of minutes: a tall, lean figure carrying a pair of gigantic axes shaped like crescent moons.

"So, you're the fucking shithead who did my pal in!" snarled the stranger, black hair sliding over the back of his neck.

Lightning struck from the sky, illuminating the stranger's face as thunder rolled in its wake. Ulquiorra squinted. Lately, pictures of this eye-patch wearing man covered the front page of nearly every newspaper−he was a serial rapist and killer who called himself "_The Ripper_." Gotham's richest bachelor didn't remember every single criminal in the newspaper, but this particular one had caught his interest due to the number five tattoo on his tongue.

The Ripper, whose hair was as black as a raven, continued while staring at Ulquiorra's incompletely healed state, "No maggot-ass human could kill Szayel; he's no weakling. His murderer must be another Arrancar and, that bitchfuck manwhore must be suffering from battle wounds and currently in need of spiritual replenishment."

_Szayel? Is dat da name of da guy who wounded Ulquiorra? _Grimmjow grimaced.

_The Ripper is that mad scientist's friend_? Ulquiorra wondered briefly_._ As of late, a pink-haired Arrancar named Szayel Apolo Grantz−more publically known as Professor Moth−had been crazy enough to blow up several public buildings and had given Batman a hard time with his Carbon Copy and bone rupturing Voodoo Doll during their fight earlier that evening.

Ulquiorra pointed his index finger at the towering figure before him. However, when the narrow green blast of his _Cero_ hit the target, The Ripper did not budge, nor was he scathed.

Instead, The Ripper sneered triumphantly, "How's that, son of a bitch? No one has ever defeated my _Hierro_."

"So far," Ulquiorra added calmly, recognizing the term. _Iron skin._

Rather than attacking using a full blast _Cero_, Ulquiorra thought he'd better test using multiple _Bala −_the weaker, yet speedier, form he used for lesser attacks−to find The Ripper's weak point, probing every possibility. Before he accomplished his goal, however, his butler interfered. Without any explanation, the butler pushed his employer to the side, a _Cero_ building in his hands. Blinding beams burst out from his palm, swifter than wind and hotter than fire.

"Grimmjow, there's no need for you to take part."

But the blue-haired butler disobeyed his master. "Too bad; a dead employer'll give me no salary! You'd better continue your _Gonzui_ while I get ridda dis dirt!"

Before Ulquiora could open his mouth to ask, Grimmjow quickly explained his terminology. "_Gonzui_ is wha' it's called when an Arrancar sucks as many souls as possible to increase his or 'er size, power, force, an' spiritual energy. S'also used to heal injuries."

Ulquiorra stood in silence. His butler had his own method of protecting him while he recuperated from the wounds Szayel had inflicted.

"Are you frightened now, _scumbag_?" The Ripper taunted Ulquiorra, drawling on the last word.

Gotham's richest bachelor did not answer, but his butler did, while firing another _Cero_, "As if he _needed_ to get involved wi'h a butt-muncher like you!"

"You dumbshit fag!" Agitated, The Ripper launched another attack, his strings of Bala flaring against the darkness of the night. The raven-haired Arrancar advanced, and his blue-haired opponent eluded, their battle like a dance of death to the tune of the crows cawing in the sky. The heavy rain slowed to a drizzle.

Grimmjow reeled, spinning his feet and gyrating his body, emitting blue Cero lights from his palms and thrusting them at his opponent's heart. His opponent's much-prided Hierro, did not count for nothing: Grimmjow's Cero was no more than a child's play to him. The blue-haired Arrancar swore and jumped back a step, gritting his teeth in frustration.

The Ripper counterattacked; a ringing crash shook the air as his Cero blasted a sculpted angel marble headstone, missing the swift target. As the masterpiece of baroque grandeur crumbled into smithereens, the raven-haired Arrancar activated his Sonído. The Cero was a mere distraction; the real danger was the pair of axes. The Ripper wielded the huge weapons with an ease that belied his skinny frame, mercilessly chasing his target, laughing all the time.

As one of crescent moon axes grazed the butler's right arm, drawing a splash of blood, of which rancid scent dispersed onto the damp funeral site, its owner darted to inflict further injury, mocking his opponent with a derisive laugh. "How's that, vermin?"

Still dodging, the shorter Arrancar sneered back, "Don' talk while y're at dis distance, will you? Your asscrack-breath makes me sick!"

Lip curling in hateful jeer, the jet-haired murderer roared, "Pray, _Santa Teresa_!"

"Psh, can you believe it? _Th' Ripper_'s prayin'! Are you a devout Cath'lic or somethin'?" mocked Grimmjow.

His mockery was short-lived. In an instant, The Ripper's reiatsu swelled up hugely, to the greatest Grimmjow had ever encountered. Four additional arms, each as lean and deadly as the last, burst from The Ripper's shoulders and sides, his crescent moon axes replaced by half a dozen scythes in the wielder's six hands. A pair of crooked white horns now grew on top of his head, and a flat half-mask covered all of his face save his lipless mouth and a diamond-shaped hole for his good eye. He resembled nothing more than a demonic praying mantis, come to slice ribbons from his opponent's still-living flesh and skull.

Trimmed blades of grass twirled though the air as the metal scythes raced in a deadly course toward Grimmjow's direction; a criss-crossing network of scarring cuts were carved deep into the row of solid tombstones in their course. The blue-haired Arrancar could barely evade this weapon's superior speed.

"Damn!" was all that Grimmjow had time to mutter for before his opponent resumed the attack.

Through his enhanced _Pesquisa_, Ulquiorra knew that The Ripper's spiritual energy was greater than his butler's, so he accelerated his _Gonzui_. Normally, he'd rather go for a few selected souls with stronger reiatsu to minimize its acrid taste, but time did not allow him such a luxury right now. While devouring as many as he could find, Ulquiorra let his eyes follow Grimmjow, whose jeering grin faltered into a snarl now that he had to face The Ripper with even more difficulties.

The Ripper's feet drew ragged scraping noises from the hard-packed earth as he saltated with his Sonído_. _The murderer sliced a mausoleum, which was in the way, to pieces with one swing of his half-dozen scythes. Grimmjow was forced to use his _Gran Rey Cero_ to defend himself, utilizing the immense blast to deflect the rain of deadly detritus. Much larger and much more powerful than his ordinary Cero, the beams, as blue as his hair and eyes, blasted the huge chunks of stone into smithereens. This did not mean, however, that he had enough time to evade from The Ripper's enhanced _Sónido_.

Before he even had time to blink, another blow gouged into his diaphragm, bathing his opponent's blade in his blood. The minacious scythes hissed through the air about the butler's body in a deadly maelstrom. While Grimmjow's neck was shallowly injured, blood trickling from a wound dangerously near his jugular, his arms and limbs barely escaped being torn off completely, deep gashes splattering blood across the grass. His stomach was not so lucky: the wound in his belly was at least two inches deep, and he clamped a hand over it to keep his organs from spilling out onto the soggy ground.

The blue-haired Arrancar had no choice but to employ his utmost power.

Through the swirling debris, Ulquiorra spotted Grimmjow drawing his sword and shouting, "Grind, Pantera!" His voice shook with pain, but his resolve did not falter. His hands and feet transformed into black claws and a tail protruded from his body. His hair elongated, sweeping like mane. His reiatsu had increased too, though it did not surpass The Ripper's.

"Ho, what have we got here! Pantherman, _the_ Robin Hood of the twenty-first century?" Giddy with zeal, The Ripper licked a portion of Grimmjow's blood on his scythe. "Interesting!" he leered as he savored the blood's coppery taste, "Definitely interesting!" He charged again while evading Grimmjow's Gran Rey Cero.

Surprised though he was with his butler's secret identity, Ulquiorra, who had just finished his Gonzui, hurried to Grimmjow's rescue by means of Sonído. It was to him that The Ripper held a grudge against; his butler had nothing to do with this and therefore did not deserve to be killed.

Before Ulquiora reached his destination, a thin crack appeared in the air, gradually widening into a gaping maw, from which four female Arrancar stepped out to intervene.

Ulquiorra's steps faltered in alarm. His enhanced _Pesquisa_ warned him that one of these figures−the dark-skinned blonde who wore a costume resembling a great white shark−was stronger than he was. He no longer dared keep his hands in his pockets.

The female Arrancar with enormous reiatsu spoke no word; in fact, the lower half of her face was hidden behind the high, filter-studded collar of her skintight white top, which was short enough that saying it "bared her midriff" would be an understatement. The moment their eyes met, he knew she would do anything within her power to stop him from causing The Ripper any harm. There were no other options, those aquamarine eyes told him: fighting was the only way.

Ulquiorra sent a blast of Cero toward his four opponents. Not unexpectedly, the shark-woman deflected them all. His green Cero simply vanished before even reaching its targets.

"You three," she finally spoke, her voice a snap of cool logic as she ordered her followers, "Don't interfere in my fight! Make sure The Ripper is safe and sound!"

_A wise decision_, Ulquiorra lauded his opponent inwardly._ She knows how to minimize war casualties. More than that, she seems to be a veteran combatant and an experienced leader, as well_.

On the other hand, this situation became more dangerous for his butler. He needed to hurry if he wanted to keep the blue-haired Arrancar alive.

As soon as her three companions removed themselves from the battlefield, the shark-like figure fired her Cero, starting the fight anew. Broader than Ulquiorra's by far, its power was more than double that of the blast he'd sent her way.

Ulquiorra had anticipated the strength of the attack and dodged, but miscalculated the range, so it still grazed his left shoulder. He cast a sideways glance, not to examine the wound, but to glimpse Grimmjow's fight. The glance availed him naught, since the trees and the tombstones under the somber night sky obscured his view.

He could still hear Grimmjow's voice scorning, "What's dis… you're chickening out 'n' need help from a bunch of _girls, _chicken-dick wrangler?"

Instead of The Ripper, it was one of the female Arrancar who replied, "Shut the fuck up! Were it not for Shark's order, we wouldn't be helping this accursed rapist!"

"Tch, like I'd fuckin' know dis Shark shit!" Grimmjow shouted over the clash of metal. He was undoubtedly crossing swords with the adversary who had just spoken.

"How dare you disrespect our leader, filth!" another Arrancar, her voice of mezzo-soprano pitch, joined in hotly.

But The Ripper yelled, "Enough, mind your own business, you bunch of useless cunts! I don't care if Don Barragan Luisenbarn himself had that dipshit Shark guarantee my safety; just get the fuck out of my sight!"

"We can't disobey an order," another voice answered him, a flat, derisory alto this time.

Tone vexed yet eyes hungry for the view of exposed parts of the three female Arrancar' skin, The Ripper squalled still, "What the hell makes you think just because you've been ordered to guarantee my life, I won't rape and torture you to death?"

"And what makes you think just because we've been ordered to keep you alive, we are also prohibited from castrating you and making you regret for ever being born? You are only the don's nephew, not his son."

Her colleague added in agreement with chakrams on both hands dangerously aimed at the tall Arrancar's crotch, "Yeah, he's got six sons. He won't care if you can't make an heir!"

"Bah! None of those wimpy ass boys is as strong as me, in case you didn't notice–especially that fuck-ugly tranny, Charlotte Coolhourne! I'm as good as Barragan's own son!" Indignantly the male barked as he deflected the pair of flying chakrams with his faithful scythes.

"Wanna try?" The female Arrancar with curly hair Sonídoed to just one step away from where The Ripper stood and jabbed her broad sword at his abdomen, her steel blade glinting through the darkness and her powerful biceps rippling with the motion. His lean-muscled abdomen remained unscratched, as the sound of metal grinding on metal pierced the graveyard.

"Stop it, Lioness! Do you want to tarnish our reputation still more?" the cool-headed one demanded, holding one hand, hidden by an overlong white sleeve, before her face as though to ward off an unpleasant smell. "'The Amazon Quartet−the most invincible female assassins in Gotham Mundo−can't carry out its client's simple request,' is that what you want to hear?"

"But Serpent, aren't you pissed off by this… this… pustule on the anus of humanity?" a soprano voice protested−the one who had first snarled at Grimmjow.

"It's rare to see you and Lioness agree, Elk. A pity that now is not the right situation for it!" Serpent said, glancing at her comrades with contemptuous violet eyes. "Shark instructed us to keep this herpes covered dong biscuit alive, so we'll do as she said."

"What? You mean we'll keep covering this ingrate bastard, Serpent?"

"Not necessarily," the alto voice answered cunningly, "As long as he's alive in the end, it doesn't matter if his opponent injures him. We can just sit back and… watch until he really gets into a pinch." If she smiled at this, it was hidden behind her sleeve. "This way, we save our energy and our name remains unblemished."

Hurling his fulgid scythes at the so-called Serpent, The Ripper hollered, "No need for that, you imbecile bitches! This battle will end in five minutes and I'll fucking show you ass-wipes how powerless you are compared to an Espada, then I'll screw you to death!"

Ulquiorra never found out what reply the female Arrancar gave, for at that moment Pantherman roared, the power of his voice creating shockwaves that bent the trees and forced the three female Arrancar to back away to keep themselves out of his range. It even elevated The Ripper, in spite of his much-prided Hierro, from the ground.

Shark and Ulquiorra were not unaffected by Pantherman's shockwave either. Despite the distance, they found it difficult to stand firmly; some of the tombstones around them cracked, others crumbled into debris. Regardless of the chaos, they did not cease their battle, trading Cero for Cero and utilizing the blinding speed of Sónido to maneuver through the rain-soaked battleground. Gravestones became footholds, trees became props for rebounds or temporary cover from sight as they flickered in and out of sight, gauging each other's strength, speed, reflexes and senses before committing to a more risky course of action.

This shockwave apparently put the female Arrancar on alert. Concerned about their safety, if not that of their client, they leaped forward to strike Grimmjow down before he could become a greater threat to them than he was already. Three simultaneous battle cries of "Thrust, _Cierva_!", "Devour, _Leona_!" and "Strangle to death, _Anaconda_!" filled the air. Their forms shifted in a rush of wind and mounting _reiatsu_:

Lioness' curling dark hair became a blonde-brown mane which spilled over her back, a snarling cat-face mask appearing over her lovely dark features, bone-white armor covering her legs, and cupping the lower half of her breasts, and leaving the rest of her buxom, muscular body bare. Serpent's slender waist and legs melted and became an immense snake's tale, shifting like flexible white bone. She had a mouthless mask with oval slits for eyes, triple-drop marks beneath each eye, and slender feather-like spurs sprouting from the top appeared over her delicate features. Elk's fierce countenance was hidden behind a deer's-head bone mask, branching antlers sweeping back from its crown, a short horn sprouting from the center of its forehead and jagged red markings surrounding the eyes; her plain clothing became a brown furred bodysuit, open down the front to display her cleavage.

Not waiting to see how their opponent would fare against their _resurecciones_, the next moment, those female Arrancar tore off their left arms, ignoring the pain as they cried "_Quimera Parca_". This sacrifice allowed them to merge the limbs, forming an immense creature with a deer's skull for a head, a muscular brown-furred torso, a long black lion's mane, a deer's legs, and a serpent's tail. The creature's colossal presence soon occupied the cemetery, blowing the leaves off their branches. Despite its bulky appearance, this chimera was swift as any in the use of Sónido. In a flash, it appeared before Grimmjow and fired a Cero from its glowing red eyes.

Grimmjow tried to evade by leaping upwards, a savage snarl twisting his features, but he could not make it in time. A new hole pierced through his torso, dripping blood, though the partially cauterized nature of the wound kept him from bleeding out. Writhing in pain, he still shot darts of miniature Cerofrom his elbows, showering the vast creature and its three mistresses with bolts of blue energy.

The darts that hit the chimera-like figure were aimed for the vitals, and they had done a good job of shredding those. The monster was brought down on one knee, gore oozing from what remained of its torso. There was more than simply Cero within Grimmjow's dart-like attacks: as they grazed their targets' skins, the poison inside them activated, weakening all who were infected. Despite its prodigious size, the chimeric creature staggered against such tiny attacks. Its mistresses had received only a few blows before they successfully kept themselves away from the darts, but Allon, this Quimera Parca, took the rest by itself. Under normal conditions, The Quimera Parca was ungovernable, but today, its instinct told it that its three creators were in mortal danger: Allon shielded them from the harm by nature.

In its attenuated state, the chimeric creature was down on its knees, no longer wielding sufficient power to escape Pantherman's decapitation. Before its spirit disappeared, Pantherman absorbed it with Gonzui, healing his wounds by channeling his opponent's power.

"Shit!" Elk swore.

"In the end, this is the difference between _Espada_ and _Números_…" Serpent sighed in resigned distaste.

"Attack him now, while he is still in the middle of Gonzui!" Lioness cried.

With that, the trio threw themselves at Pantherman as one.

As they sprung at him, unexpectedly, they became the hunted; The Ripper's scythes whistled and Lioness became the first to fall… into five bloody pieces.

"Serves you bloody dipsticks right for fucking interfering with my battle!" sneered The Ripper.

"Mila Rose!" Lioness' shorthaired companion screamed as the corpse dissolved into dust and vanished.

"How dare you!" Seething with fury, Serpent screamed at The Ripper. A hand shot out, and an immense serpent slithered out from the sleeve. With an unknown incantation, she manipulated her familiar to attack The Ripper.

The snake was remarkably fast, closing onto The Ripper in no time at all, its mouth gaping wide to display long fangs dripping with deadly venom. Before it could strike, it suddenly fell lifeless. Its mistress stood wide-eyed, her hands falling from her face to hang limply at her sides as her mask shattered and vanished−revealing a hollow hole where her mouth should have been.

Pantherman's hand emerged from her stomach, crushing her viscera in a grip as strong as iron. His _Gonzui_ was completed; his health and vigor, restored; his power, enhanced. "For once," he muttered, "I agree wi'h dat bastard: you gals' r' vexin'." He shook the gore from his hand, not even bothering to watch her fall or witness her dissolution.

"YOOOOU!!!!" This time it was Elk's turn to scream a battle cry. Blinded with rage, she sped toward Grimmjow with a chakram in each hand, her bloodlust blinding her from the uselessness of her act. She threw herself at him with all the berserk fury of a mad dog. "For Sun-Sun!" she cried.

"Stop, Apache!" Even while battling Ulquiorra, the so-called 'Shark' was still concerned about her last companion's safety. But it was too late. Far, far too late.

One of The Ripper's scythes fell upon her nape as she darted forward: he had calculated her timing and tossed his scythe upwards. The crescent moon blade sliced through her neck until her head lolled, dropped, and rolled on the ground with the eyes and mouth still wide opened, though not for long. Soon her corpse, just like the previous two, vanished into the dust.

Shark uttered nothing, but judging from the blazing fury in her eyes, it was likely that she would kill The Ripper as soon as her business with Ulquiorra was done, her client's request be damned. She attacked Gotham's richest bachelor again, her movements rushed, but by no means reckless. In fact, they became even more powerful and precise, systematically eliminating possible cover with every attack, even as she forced him to dodge the deadly blasts. She must want this fight to end soon so that she could tear her comrades' murderer to pieces with her bare hands.

Ulquiorra's expression did not change, but he was pained that his hunch had been right. Since she was perfectly capable of handling him even without her Resurrección, the fact that she opted to draw her broad, short, hollow-centered sword, arm outstretched in front with the blade pointing down, and proclaimed, "Attack, _Tiburón_!" meant that she indeed strongly desired to accelerate the conclusion of the battle. Water wrapped around her in a cocoon-like cyclone. When she sliced herself out, her transformation revealed bone-like armor in place of her Hollow fragments.

At the sight of Shark's immodest outfit, The Ripper let out a suggestive whistle. Without taking his gaze off of Shark's only partially covered voluptuous breasts, and her long smooth thighs covered by the smallest of skirts and strips of bone armor, he exclaimed, "I'll let you have a taste of my dick as soon as our battles end, you blonde slut!"

She shot him a glare that would have boiled him alive had it been able, her eyes the only part of her face visible behind a white shark-mask with bared triangular teeth and aquamarine markings.

Another blue Cero landed on the tree behind The Ripper, and the trunk crumbled into ashes. Pantherman snarled, "Your opponent is _me_; d'you think you still have time to care 'bout bangin' a woman?"

"Show me that you're worth my time, now that the obstacles are gone," The Ripper leered back, "Show me what you've got, Pantherman!"

A series of blue _Cero_, and a barrage of punched, slashes, and blows as he dashed in to close-range combat, became Pantherman's answer to The Ripper's challenge.

Barely a moment had lapsed since Shark's _Resurrección_, but that was more than enough for Ulquiorra to know, unquestionably, that the new level of power was too much for his unreleased form. He had no choice but to transform to his own _Resurrección_ state now, or he would die.

Drawing his sword, he pronounced, "Bind, _Murciélago_!"

At the sound of his words, his spiritual energy burst and tumbled around him like black rain. His face, already mask-like, was hidden behind a true mask of bone-white material, green-black streaks like the trails of tears descending from each eye along the smooth hard surface. Long, twisted horns sprouted from his head, and ragged-looking black bat-wings burst from his back. His green-hilted sword vanished, replaced by a black spear.

Batman had appeared.

The black rain of spiritual energy was not the only rain that was falling. As if in sympathy, the sky had opened up anew and poured down water on the graveyard, slicking the newly-transformed Arrancar's black hair.

"First Pantherman and now Batman! Is Pantherman Batman's cocksucker or what?" The Ripper proclaimed happily, "I can't believe my luck!" If he succeeded to kill them both, he would unequivocally become Gotham Mundo's most fearsome villain, but that wasn't even what mattered to him. To hell with fame! He just wanted to be the strongest, to kill every other motherfucker who might be considered close to his level. He gloried in the slaughter… and now, he had the chance to kill the two bastards who might try to stop his fun!

Brimming with overconfidence, The Ripper grew reckless. This time, Pantherman's attack cut through The Ripper's left wrists. Three severed hands, all still holding their scythes fell.

"DAMNED FIEND!" The Ripper swore in agony, his exultation just a moment before now turned into dismay. All his three handless left arms were dangling down his side, showing the flesh and bone contained within them. His three right arms steadied their scythes for another attack.

Grimmjow dodged to The Ripper's left, thinking that this side was harmless, but he was wrong. The Ripper's amputated hands regrew instantaneously, even the scythes bursting forth from the ruins of his severed limbs, and they cut Grimmjow diagonally across his chest before he could fortify himself with Hierro.

_Dat… dat just ain't right…_ Even in his pained state, Grimmjow's skin was still prickled with goosebumps as he witnessed his opponent's abnormal regeneration speed. _Nothin' should heal dat fast!_

Meanwhile, Shark silently blessed the rain. Her techniques were all aqua-based and this made her the most formidable whenever water was around. She extended her blade out, the raindrops that fell on it evaporating on contact. Her blonde lashes lowering to shade her ultramarine eyes, Shark launched _Hirviendo_.

It was hard to tell which was more searing: the attack of the boiling steam or Shark's fury. The emotional wounds she felt at the deaths of her comrades, combined with the unlimited water source made Shark the worst possible enemy. Even the usually composed Batman could not help flinching when one of her attacks scalded his skin. Had he not performed Gonzui earlier, he did not doubt he would have been boiled alive by the scalding water the instant it brushed his body.

Minutes passed. Two battles raged simultaneously, not one participant sparing a glance for the other's battles.

Never before had the dark knight felt the swift steps of his feet and the mighty flaps of his wings this useless. No matter where he moved, and no matter how he strove to accelerate his speed, his opponent was always faster. Sometimes her corporeal entity would move ahead of him; at other times, her _Cascada_−a rushing aquatic surge−chased him.

Batman leaped forward in the space of a heartbeat, and then he and his opponent began a frenzied dance of flexing limbs and gyrating bodies in a blur of Sonído−crescent kicks, chops, slashes, knees, elbows, locks, throws and holds all exchanged, broken, and parried within the space of a human eye blink. Shark was a brilliant tactician who had no difficulty in predicting his next step, and not even the utmost reaches of his Sónido could keep him from her reach.

He had no other choice but to employ his ultimate technique: _Cero Oscuras_. So powerful was the black Cero that everything became enveloped within darkness at its release. The black mist enshrouded the entire cemetery and its arboreal shades. Even the ground was no longer distinguishable from the sky. But most of all, the black Cero's destructive force was tenfold greater than Batman's normal Cero. The tide of battle had turned: Pantherman true to his name, could see in complete blackness, and Batman could naturally see through his own Cero.

After eons of evolution, sight had become such a crucial and inborn sense that the moment their opponents were hit by such a loss, they froze. It was a purely visceral reaction, and it was only for a moment−for the briefest of instants−but it was enough.

Along with the darkness, Batman's Cero Oscuras blasted more than half of Shark's stomach, taking a huge bite from her side, ironically akin to that of a ravenous shark. She managed to dodge at the last second; otherwise, her body would have been split in two. Batman did not give her any chance to recover. Instead, taking advantage of her agony, he ran Murciélago through the rest of Shark's abdomen.

Blood gushed from Shark's mouth, surging up into her lungs from her destroyed organs. Grimacing, she grabbed the spear piercing her side to ascertain his location and keep her opponent from escaping. With the last of her strength, Shark condensed large amounts of water around her blade and fired it off, in a blast of pressurized water.

Had _La Gota_ hit its target, Batman would have surely died. But, thanks to the darkness still lingering from Cero Oscuras, the attack missed. Even so, the current of air formed by following La Gota's course was still acuate enough to crack the edge of Ulquiorra's mask and draw fresh blood from his cheek.

The last of the Amazon Quartet fell. She made one last effort to rise, embedding her broad _pata_ onto the ground and clinging on to its hilt to stand up, but darkness swallowed the rest of her strength. She fell once more, never to stand up again.

Ulquiorra stepped forward to stand over her fallen form, removing his mask and ending his Resurrección_._ "You are the first to make me use Cero Oscuras." Wistful words tore from his usually languid mouth. "May I have your name?"

Bloody lips moved, forming two final words. "Tia… Harribel."

The copper-skinned blonde's life ended. She died accompanied by the glistening drops of rain and her body dissolved into infinite particles that dispersed into the shades of the night.

Ulquiorra stared at the spot where Harribel had lain and wondered what would have happened if they had met in different circumstances.

The thought was cut short by a thud. Ulquiorra ran towards it to discover The Ripper slumped on the ground with a hideous smile. He knew this day would come, and he had fought without regrets. Those who called themselves warriors were born of blood—and wouldn't die any other way.

A smug smirk stretched Grimmjow's lips. "Finished 'im off wi'h m' Gran Rey Cero, thanks to your little black mist there. Coulda used a 'lil heads up though."

They watched as the corpse dissipated into dust. Surprising even himself, an eerie sense of loss dragged down Grimmjow's chest, but at the same time his heart was exalted at his victory.

He was not without injury: cuts laced his skin, bits of his long mane of blue hair were missing, and a deeper gash in his leg bled sluggishly. Grimmjow, the winner of the battle, then approached his employer. His expression stiffened when their distance had closed into two yards.

"What's wrong?" asked Ulquiorra.

"Somethin'… somethin's happenin' to m' back!"

Ulquiorra checked Grimmjow's back. "The place where your tattoo is located is shining." But he spoke no more. A strange trepidation filled himself, as well. His own tattoo was glimmering with light.

After the brightness subsided, Ulquiorra realized that their tattoo numbers had increased: four to three and six to four.

The master and the butler looked at each other. By an unwritten decree, they knew that these were by no means the last Arrancar to come.


	3. The Copycat

Thank you so much my grammar corrector, consultant, critic, advisor, beta readers... (in alphabetical order) _Bloody Crystal, Chibi Rose Angel, mysticLegend11, polar_panther, sandrilenefatoren2_

_

* * *

_

CHAPTER III

**The Copycat**

"I still don't get it. Why have our numbered tattoos changed on their own? It's like… we're replacin' those we defeated two nights ago!" Grimmjow growled and slapped the plate filled with bacon onto the glass dining table in front of Ulquiorra. His cooking skills had improved: he could now sauté bacon without burning it.

"I don't know either, but it seems that those numbers symbolize a power ranking of some sort through victory or death," replied Ulquiorra, the fury and strength of his opponent's reiatsu still lingering in his mind and touch. _Tia Harribel. So she was number three._ The raven-haired Arrancar brushed his fingers over the changed tattoo hidden under his immaculate suit.

"Rank of power, huh? Is dat why I look sissy while bein' compared to you, 'coz your rank's higher than mine?"

"You don't look sissy as far as I can see." His voice seemed to suggest a bit of puzzlement, despite his unfazed expression.

"Well, The Ripper called me 'fag' 'n 'Batman's cocksucker'!" Grimmjow's fingers tightened around the coffee pot in his hands.

"You are still seriously thinking about those even now?" Ulquiorra never needed to say much, raise his voice, or use any insults. His words always managed to sound effortlessly condescending to Grimmjow.

"I'll grab some mawe cawffee," the butler excused himself, grabbing his boss' nearly-full jug, wondering in his mind whether his boss was inwardly jeering at him with thoughts like _'Honestly, how old are you, Grimmjow?'_ They both knew Ulquiorra had not touched his drink, but the rich man respected his butler's need for temporary solitude to calm down.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed and he paused halfway out the door. His skin prickled as an unfamiliar reiatsu was approaching, breaking through the electric fence as well as the rest of the anti-theft apparatuses set to keep human intruders away from the mansion. Glass shattered and splintered with a thundering clang. The butler gritted his teeth: the intruder had broken in through the greenhouse roof.

"I'm gonna kill dat motherfucker!" Grimmjow swore petulantly, imagining the mess of shattered glass he would have to clean up afterwards.

"Only _after_ you find out his or her purpose," reminded Ulquiorra. The intruder's reiatsu was nothing tremendous, unlike Shark's or The Ripper's; therefore, he could sip his coffee at ease while his butler took charge.

Grimmjow's body shifted through the shadows, disappearing and rephrasing through Sonído effortlessly, heading towards the approaching reiatsu that was even now closing in on the row of Regency-style rounded-arched doors bordering the antechamber that connected the greenhouse to the central mansion. There, he spotted a blond boy, just a few years younger than himself. "What d'you want?"

Eyes blazing with silent fury and lips quivering, the young man before him had 'revenge' etched all over his face. "This is for killing Master Nnoitra!" The boy screamed and ran towards the blue haired butler, an arm pulled back for a punch.

"Oi, oi, I don't even know who dis Nnoitra fella is!" Grimmjow protested as he caught the fist aimed at his face.

"He's The Ripper, you moron!"

A sneer now occupied Grimmjow's face. "Dat hooligan gawt an obedient dawg, eh?"

"Just like Batman and you!" the adolescent answered cantankerously. His eyes were pools of anguish, his trembling frame betraying a reckless rage with only intentions of revenge. One of his legs shot up, aiming for the butler's chin.

"You make me sick, boy!" Grimmjow uttered in disgust on the thought of calling his employer "_Master_ Ulquiorra". He batted away the boot and shoved the boy away from him.

The teenage boy paid no heed to this; he was more concerned with how to injure Grimmjow. At length, frustrated that none of his attacks worked on his opponent, the boy jumped back a step to gain room to draw his sword. The sword hissed out of the sheath, and Grimmjow noted the chakram device at the base of the blade, above the hilt.

"Crush, Verruga!"

The youngster's pale skin darkened into an earthy brown hide and short blond hair grew out into a wild mane. Pointed tusks framed a large maw. The floor cracked as a hoofed foot stomped on the ground. The plants in the greenhouse became like forest undergrowth to this great tusked creature. Though beast-like, he was still bipedal and easily tall enough to tower over Grimmjow. The blue-haired Arrancar, however, only snickered as he eyed the warthog-like transformation.

The blue-haired Arrancar scoffed at the reitsu level of the creature in front of him. Not even worth drawing his sword for. His confidence was not undue either, for the brown Warthog could hardly match his speed; brute strength was his opponent's only forte. Instinctively, Grimmjow's head evaded the huge fist at the last second, and he slipped past the beast to kick the back of his mane in a split second.

He leaned forward and jabbed at the thick chest under the iron-hard tusks. Grimmjow gritted his teeth as the beast caught his fist. A heavy fist slammed into his side and Grimmjow skidded backwards and crashed into the glass wall of the greenhouse. As expected from a wild boar displaying his fury, this single attack was uncontrolled, unsubtle, and easily read, and yet its power was more overwhelming than that of the Quimera Parca beast created by the Amazon Quartet.

Grimmjow shook the glass out of his hair and clothes_. So he _can_ be serious when he puts some effort. _Glass crunched under the two Arrancar's feet, only to be ignored by both combatants with the impunity only an Arrancar could, thanks to their iron skin. As the butler forced the Warthog to back up to a wall in a defensive crouch, with each step, the beast's inferiority became more apparent: he struggled just to keep from being killed by the almost insultingly casual flurry of kicks and punches which his opponent delivered at blurring speed.

With a huff, Grimmjow stationed one hand on the Warthog's throat, inquiring, "Why are you so desperate to meet death? You knew you couldn't defeat da one who had defeated your master, din't'cha?"

"Yeah, so what? It's better for me to die than live in a world without him! He saved my life, goddammit!"

"Since dat dickhead saved your life," Grommjow told him, "you think he'd be happy if you throw away what he fuckin' saved?!" The blue-haired Arrancar grabbed the Warthog's collar, eyes seething with disgust.

Grimmjow's sermon was short, but true, and it broke through to the Warthog's heart. Emotions flashed over the Warthog's face. The transformation melted away as he regained his anthropoid form. The blond boy said nothing, but his hazel eyes were clearly full of sorrow and regret, even as he looked away in shame.

"Follow me, kid!" Grimmjow demanded shortly, and strode off with purpose.

The boy put up no resistance as Grimmjow dragged him along by his hair past the vestibule with gold-gilded cornice to the dining room. Ulquiorra stared at them over an empty breakfast plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Dis brat was tryin' to avenge Da Ripper's death," Grimmjow explained as they met Ulquiorra's blank stare, "What're you gonna do with him?"

"I believe it is part of your responsibilities to dispose of the trash," answered his master in a flat monotone and buried his face among the newspaper pages.

The butler uttered a short "Tch!" before dragging the blond outside, down the long, long, _long_ driveway, and to the huge wrought-iron gate that led off the property.

"Get your ass outta here n' nevah return!" Grimmjow pushed the intruder outside the fence.

"Didn't your master tell you to finish me off?" asked the younger Arrancar.

"He din't give da sp'cific detail and I don't give a damn for cleaning up da mess of your cawrpse. Go away!" The butler sent the uninvited guest on his way with a shooing gesture.

The youth shot him one last warning before leaving, "You should be careful. Master Nnoitra is the favorite nephew of Don Barragan Luisenbarn, the most terrifying Godfather in the mafia underworld. He'll send a more skilled assassin to avenge my master's death, for sure."

At first, the butler brushed off this warning, closed the high wrought iron gates, and sneered as he watched the blond teenager's back progressing further and further away. But then, he expressed an afterthought, "Hey kid, how did you know dat I did da Nnoitra fella in?"

Without turning back, the blond youth answered, "I work in Don Luisenbarn's house and he told me. I don't know how he knew it."

Grimmjow shuffled uneasily as Ulquiorra gave him a penetrating look when he returned to clear up the dishes. Perhaps he really should have killed that young Arrancar.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me, Grimmjow?" his master inquired.

"Dat kid warned me Don Barrack Andrew Louis Barn somethin' was gonna send a fiercer mastiff to avenge Da Ripper's death."

"Don Barragan Luisenbarn?" Ulquiorra's voice sounded a bit less flat than usual. "Big fish."

Grimmjow squinted. If Batman considered this Don or whatever to be a _big fish_, he really must be something.

"Anything else?"

"Nope. Dat's all."

"What about this?" The multi-billionaire picked up the newspaper that was sitting on the glass dining table and extended it to his butler.

Grimmjow skimmed over the sheet for the article that had caught his master's interest. His eyes widened on a photograph of him in Resurrección state, sneering at the camera with a bag full of cash in one hand and jewelry dangling off the other.

"Hey, I did rawb some corrupted politicians n' gave da loots to da orphanages, but I wouldn't broke into a jewelry shawp or a bank at random!' the blue-haired Arrancar yelled defiantly, "And what's mawre, I wouldn't have bothered to pose in front of da journalist's camera even if I had done dese."

"Besides, you were here when the crime was performed," his employer sedately added. The news said that the robbery had taken place the night before, but Ulquiorra had seen Grimmjow busy cleaning his library−grumpily, of course, but he _had_ been there.

"So what did you ask me for if you knew I wasn't guilty?" the truculent Arrancar muttered bitterly.

"I'm interested to hear what you think about this imposter of yours."

"I haven't gawt a clue 'bout dat fella." If the newspaper had not been his master's property, the butler would have torn it asunder as he spoke.

Ulquiorra had expected this response. Therefore, he simply asked another question, "How did you become an Arrancar in the first place?"

Grimmjow clenched his fist. "You ain't seriously thinkin' just 'coz you ask, I'll answah, d'you? Especially aftah you refused to answah da same question two nights ago!"

"Actually, I do." His master's voice had returned to its usual flat, yet dangerous tone.

Grimmjow was unsure if he imagined things, but Ulquiorra's reiatsu seemed to build up, as though ready to strike him at any time. "Fine, I'll answah your question, Ulquiorra _schfincter_," drawling the last word. He was curious to see what kind of reaction his employer would make. Would he lose his steel-cold expression with a flicker of anger? Would he dangerously state in an undertone "I would not have you make fun of my family name!" and blast his green Cero?

Grimmjow's little scheme backfired. It only irritated him more to perceive Ulquiorra staring at him with the same unstirred expression waiting for a reply.

Biting down an angry growl, the subordinate answered, "My old man was a zookeeper, so I used to play with animals a lot. 'N' there was dis one white panther who became my best buddy. One evenin' though, when I gawt to his cage, he no lawnger greeted me. He'd been dead. Slaughtered. But he wasn't da only one; my old man's cawrpse lay underneath his, mutilated. Their blood painted da cage red.

I ran to da staffroom to report what had happened, but all I found was another room filled with bloody corpses. None of da staff there survived da massacre. 'Cept me. Well… kinda." Grimmjow looked down at himself and shook his head before continuing. "I grabbed da phone, but was stabbed from behind while dialing 911. I only saw a silver-haired man grinnin' n' carryin' a _Zweihänder_ before I lost m' life."

The multi-billionaire squinted, "Are you sure he was wielding a two-handed German sword instead of a Japanese katana?"

"Positive. Dat sword was actually a decoration on da staffroom wall. My old man's boss loved antique. But da bloody killer did wear a _haori_ n' a pair of _hakama."_

Ulquiorra pondered silently, empty coffee cup sitting on the table by his hand.

His butler knew that Gotham's richest bachelor did not wish to be disturbed and brought the dishes to the kitchen sink quietly. Oddly, his irritation at being forced to reveal his past was almost gone, into a strange ache that was more tired than painful… and almost relieving at that. Maybe finally talking about it, however briefly, had acted as a form of catharsis…?

***

As the firmament deepened into the deep blue hue of night, Batman spread his wings in Gotham's murky sky even though there was no bat-shaped spotlight to invoke him. Actually, rather than dealing with the same old criminals, he'd prefer to hunt for his butler's imposter tonight. The nature of criminals, however, demanded otherwise: the dark knight caught a glimpse of a figure carrying a suspicious bag sneaking along an alleyway.

Less than three minutes later, white sachets of cocaine were scattered on the narrow, dusty street between the towering two buildings. A green bag−their former container−lain nearby, a new hole gaping from its side. Its owner was not stupid enough to continue his futile resistance as Batman tied him up. But the dark knight caught sight of a familiar silhouette leaping above him. Quickly, Batman set off a flare in the sky for the police officers to collect the drug dealer, while he himself left to chase the other, who, at a glance, looked a great deal like Grimmjow's Pantherman persona.

Trusting his wings to carry him, Batman sped up. His flying silhouette reflected on the glass windowed buildings as he shifted past as soundlessly as a shadow. Like a hawk stalking his prey, he pursued relentlessly until the supposed Pantherman's imposter landed on top of a spherical edifice that was Gotham's Planetarium. Memories of his seventh birthday assaulted his mind−laughter, fun and the story of how, at this very spot, his father's younger self had proposed to the woman who then became his mother. The sudden intrusion of his idyllic past life into his far more nihilistic current occupation shook Ulquiorra, enough so that his masklike face showed emotion for a moment. The target he'd followed interpreted Batman's pang of nostalgic sentiment as some sort of hesitation, however, and decided that this was the place to make a stand.

The fake Pantherman drew a weapon from the back of his waist−a weapon that, strangely, resembled nothing more than a whip with an iron wheel and proclaimed, "Rip off, Golondrina!" At his words, all of his resemblance to Grimmjow's Resurección faded away. Large wings sprouted from his back, each with ten moon-shaped blades in place of feathers. His mask, which had initially resembled Pantherman's, elongated into a beak-like projection, one Batman recognized as a shrike, or "Butcher Bird." Violet tear-drops were painted on the mask beneath each angled oval eye-hole. Claws on his hands grew much longer, almost as long as his arms. An entirely new persona stood before Batman.

_Wings?_ Batman stared in bafflement. _This imposter can impersonate Pantherman's appearance, but not reiatsu and abilities. _

The wings vibrated and sprouted countless blades that buzzed dangerously as they whizzed through the air toward him. As they splintered, the half-moon blades shattering and spouting countless tiny blades, not unlike metal crossbow bolts fired more rapidly than machine-gun rounds. Batman knew his Sonído alone would not be enough to dodge all the flying objects. He activated Hierro, hoping that the iron skin would allow him to withstand the barrage. It did; myriads of metal shards clanging to the ground upon deflection from his skin. A few of the needle-like projectiles pierced the membranes of his wings, but the tiny wounds regenerated so quickly that not a drop of blood spilled.

His opponent summoned the remaining blades back, and they reformed into the semi-circular wing-blades he had begun with.

The dark knight did not lower his guard: he doubted his opponent would give up so easily.

Pantherman's imposter sneered, the corners of his mask's mouth curling up derisively, as he put spry feet to work. So swift were his movements that they formed five after-images indistinguishable from himself. These 'speed-clones' separated, moving in different directions, leaping from one roof to another.

Batman froze. He recognized this technique: _Gemelos Sonído_ belonged to Zommari Leroux, or more publicly known as "The Pumpkin Master." Leroux was the vigilante Arrancar of another city, just as Batman was to Gotham. Batman had met him once, while chasing an escaping criminal from Gotham, and the proud, dark-skinned Arrancar had captured the escapee for him, stating that Batman should keep out of his territory. The size difference between the two−Leroux was easily a foot and a half taller than Grimmjow and more than double his girth−made it impossible for him to imitate Pantherman to such an extent.

_A shape-shifter ability in addition to being a technique copier? __This time he uses Leroux' ability, but not appearance. But how does he wield the power of a certain Arrancar while keeping his appearance to resemble another and vice versa? Why?_

Batman's eyes narrowed. Even his enhanced Pesquisa could not differentiate the original from the clones: all half a dozen figures ostensibly possessed the same amount of reiatsu. He pointed his index finger at the nearest one, and, as the green beam of his Bala pierced through the figure's body, it rippled and tore before dissipating into the night.

The dark knight ignored this illusory distraction; instead, he focused on the next target. His Bala could no longer reach any of his five remaining opponents; he had to pursue them singly.

The second figure he attacked did not yield without a fight. He faced Batman squarely; a pair of two-pronged punching daggers extending from his wrists. His body became covered in dome-shaped armor plates reminiscent of an armadillo. A mask grew over his face in an instant, its tapering snout completing the armadillo impression, though a wide gap shaped like a pair of sunglasses allowed the Arrancar to see. The daggers on his arms, which lengthened even as Batman closed the distance, evolved into dragonheads which emitted igneous orange beams from their mouths. Despite the obvious power of the attack, Batman dodged easily and fired a Bala, which pierced through the star in the mask's forehead and caused the illusory figure to vanish.

_That was not Leroux' technique,_ Batman deducted, _But since this imposter can copy other Arrancars' abilities, why didn't he copy Pantherman's as well? _Even as he pondered the problem, he turned and swept towards a third identical enemy, wings throwing gusts of cool night air against his skin.

Batman's Bala missed the third figure's ankle by mere inches, but it was close enough to incite the opponent to land on a square four-story building−a lower-class apartment building−for a more direct fight. On this roof, pegged articles of clothing hung in lines, snapping violently at the mercy of the nocturnal wind. The concrete was treacherously slippery from the drippings of the still-wet fabrics, the murky water rippling at their intrusion. Amid the fluttering laundries, Batman noticed Pantherman's imitator unsheathing what seemed to be a katana-sized sword with a long downward-curved crossguard.

The imposter's teeth bared in a feral grin. "Whirl, _Giralda_!"

As this Resurección transformed him, wind howled in a temporary tempest, hiding him from Batman's view. Twin cyclones erupted from exhaust spouts on the armor covering the copycat's legs, allowing him to hover in the air as well as blowing the clothes on the line−and then the line itself−away. Batman studied his opponent's new Resurrección state through the haze of flying laundry as he hovered in the air with the help of the cyclones. The imposter had grown large horns on his shoulders and armor that started at his feet, wrapped around his calves, and jutted out at his waist with two more spikes. A mask like those seen on ancient suits of Spanish armor hid his face, thin black markings like painted eyebrows, moustache, and goatee decorating the pale material, rectangular eye-slits allowing him to see.

With a maddening speed, the copycat launched in the air, leg raised to deliver a powerful dropkick. Batman fired another green Cero and watched as the figure disappeared harmlessly above him in a burst of dust.

_Just how many abilities does this Arrancar have?_ _Is he able to copy everyone he sees?_ _Can't he copy Grimmjow because he hasn't met Grimmjow in person? __But if the requirement for the impersonating process is a face-to-face encounter, why didn't he copy me? _wondered Batman. True, each of the shadows' forms was relatively weak, but adjusting his tactics and expectations so rapidly was a bit trying.

The chase moved on. Batman spread his wings and chased the fourth figure to the rooftop of a condominium. The frosted glass ceiling domed above a glimmering swimming pool. The pool was surrounded by seven marble statues of maidens in Hellenistic draperies carrying urns from which water sprang. Underneath these statues, mounted on the wall of the pool were seven lamps of distinctive luster, so that the water took on a rainbow hue.

Batman sent his Bala blast toward the enemy, but this figure, unlike his predecessors, did not disappear. Instead, he dodged it with flash steps, causing Batman's eyes to narrow again. Those steps were similar, but not quite the same as an Arrancar's Sonído. Batman knew that he had found the true enemy at last. He made no attempt to pursue the remaining two clones, which progressed further and further away and disappeared behind the skyscrapers. Assuming that clones should vanish once their true body was found, Batman was no longer concerned with their existence.

"How's my _shunpo_?" The other Arrancar asked sneeringly. His appearance changed into a more human-like. Spiky jet-black hair was matched with distinctly oriental features and sea-foam eyes. His grin might have been engaging, if a little reckless, had it not been for the almost sadistic hunger in his eyes. He was clad in black kimono and hakama, and only his sash was white. Even his reiatsu was distinct from an Arrancar's; though no less powerful, it lacked the blood-and-grave-dust scent Batman had come to know so well recently.

Adrenaline surged within Batman. _Everything about this night seems to remind me of mother and father's deaths. The nostalgic location, the time of the day, the cloudy weather… and now the __distinctly non-Arrancar __reiatsu_ _and the __black kimono __of the enemy. How did he know? His appearance was entirely different from my family murderer, but with so many similarities, there must be a connection. Furthermore, the so-called "shunpo," while similar to Sonído, is definitely not an Arrancar's technique. To what species does this copycat belong?_

His opponent did not grant him the luxury of time to mull the matter over. Holding his sword upside down, he began to twirl it around one hand, and it began to glow. At the sound of "Rankle the Seas and the Skies, Nejibana!," the simple katana with a rectangular cross guard and a dark blue hilt transformed, into a crystalline pole arm which mixed a trident's three prongs with a Chinese halberd's cross-bracing and double-sided concave-edged blades. The other end of the weapon, as the name "Nejibana" or "Screwflower" implied, was shaped like a corkscrew. Its blue horsehair tassel stood up as its tines pointed to the pool below. The pool water quivered, and then rose from its place like an inverted whirlpool, abandoning the now empty pool and smashing up through the glass roof in one violent gush.

And the most peculiar of all, no mask grew to cover his face.

Even though Hierro protected him from the thousands of glass shards and the crashing waves, Batman still had to face his opponent's expert martial ability. His arm buckled under a torrent of water and he leapt back shaking off the water from him. The dark knight eyed his opponent−the stance was exemplary, each movement reminiscent of a dance, one wrist always the center of the trident's rotation directing the water and blades at the same time.

Batman deflected the blows carefully, keeping his movements minimal in order to guard against an attack of opportunity. Left shoulder, right thigh, right side, head, head, left shoulder again, head, left leg, chest, right arm, chest, throat… He listed the places his opponent aimed in his head, looking for a pattern he could exploit. Some attacks he dodged, others he deflected, still others he turned into cautious counter-attacks, Murciélago's blade grinding and sparking against Nejibana.

"Ha!" The other Arrancar shouted triumphantly, giving a sudden push.

Batman was thrown back by superior strength, and turned sideways to avoid impalement on his foe's trident. Even as he turned, however, the outermost tine of the weapon grazed his right cheek, dragging a thin line of bright red across his pale skin. A drop of blood rolled down his cheek, and Batman hopped back a step to gain the time necessary to flick the blood away with an impatient thumb. The drop of dark red landed on one of the glass shards that had scattered across the roof.

"So you _can_ be hurt." his enemy taunted. When Batman used Sonído to get inside his range, he blocked a strike with Nejibana's shaft and skidded backwards, ropes of water forcing Batman to back away momentarily.

_He isn't near the threat that Tia Harribel was._ Batman determined, firing a Bala to disperse the wave headed in his direction. _Far superior to her underlings, yes, and with powers most curious… but not in the same league as their leader. A Barracuda to her Great White Shark._

"Come on, Batman!" his opponent laughed. "Doesn't the water wash the pain away?" His words were followed by a rapid series of blows−head, head, chest, shoulder, stomach, throat…

While Batman parried the attacks stoically, his opponent's lips curled upwards in a vicious jeer as he said, "Devour, Glotonería!" in a low, menacing voice.

Batman leapt back several paces, uncertain of what was to come, and what transformation would be forthcoming.

At the command, his foe's left hand transformed, into a deformed arm-like appendage with many sprouting tentacles. Simultaneously, his lower body became a vast, purple blob-like mass not unlike an octopus, but with far more tentacles than a mere eight. Moreover, he was _huge, _covering a vast portion of the now-broken glass roof.

_This entity can even have a simultaneous double Ressurrección?_ Batman sidestepped quickly, preparing himself for an unknown attack. Murciélago he held at a slight angle before his chest, ready to deflect or dodge whatever was sent his way.

Except that the anticipated attack never came.

His opponent seemed to be content enough taking the glass shard with Batman's blood on it, a pseudopodium extending from his repulsive mass to lift the piece from the roof and bring it up to his face. Smiling, he licked the blood from the shard, eyes still on Batman, and then tossed it aside. It landed with a tinkling sound on the roof.

Two more pseudopodia extended from his sides, tips coming together in a pinching motion before jerking abruptly apart. A crack opened in the air, similar to the one the Amazon Quartet had emerged from. A twist of his wrist, and Nejibana twirled, bringing up skeins of water to block Batman's angle of attack.

There was something in his leer that warned Batman of danger to come, but the furling waves obstructed the dark knight from pursuing his enemy. The ethereal aperture closed, in a motion not unlike the fluctuation of the throat upon swallowing, and the mysterious copycat it was gone.

The ethereal aperture closed and the mysterious copycat vanished with it. Wiping the blood from his grazed cheek, the dark knight glanced into a puddle of water to check that the slight wound had already healed. All his life he had never encountered anyone with such troublesome ability and illimitable mystery. _Why did he turn tail rather than face me head-on? _His stomach uncomfortable with the implications of that thought, he flew home.

***

Grimmjow was mending a cabinet door when Ulquiorra landed on the mansion.

"Did anything happen?" Gotham's most affluent bachelor asked brusquely as he walked past the kitchen.

"Nope," answered his butler, a screw dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"And Grimmjow, about your brothers." Ulquiorra halted his steps. "You may invite them over for dinner again the day after tomorrow. Wear Santa's costume."

_That'll certainly ease my pocket, but_ "Why?" asked Grimmjow. The day after tomorrow was going to be Christmas Eve, but his master was certainly not a holiday person. He was even under the impression that these kids, especially Di Roy and Edrad, were too rambunctious the last time they were invited to dinner in the Schiffer's mansion. Grimmjow even had to shout to stop them from touching the bust statues that decorated the vestibule; he doubted that a decade worth of his salary could cover these upon breakage. His employer had only displayed an expressionless face back then.

His employer displayed the same expressionless face even now. Ulquiorra Schiffer would rather not speak, but when circumstances required him to speak, he chose to question rather than be questioned. "Alfred kept all the required Christmas decorations in boxes in the second room to the left. However, since his body size is different from yours, you will need to buy the costume."

"Why da fuck d'you think I'll bother myself wi'h all dese Christmas stuff, huh?!" Even though Grimmjow 's tone was rising, it dropped immediately after. The truth was he had worn Santa's outfit while handing out flyers as his part-time job the previous year, so wearing such costume again was no big deal for him. Even so, his aggressive nature would not allow him to bend to another's will without confrontation.

Ulquiorra still showed no sign of answering.

"Hey, could it be dat you luv kids?" The blue-haired butler extended his hand to accept the bank notes his boss handed him but refused to give up questioning the multi-billionaire.

Ulquiorra made no effort to agree or to disagree, so his butler went on, "Why don't'cha get married 'n' have some of your own? Come to think of it, why don't'cha go get a date or somethin'? I've nevah seen you shmooze."

"And let the girl announce my Hollow hole to the mass media?" answered his master sarcastically.

_Stupid rich boy!_ Grimmjow suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Find an Arrancar, not a human."

"I've never met any female Arrancar before the Amazon Quartet."

"Seriously? How come… wait, have you evah _tried_ findin' 'em?"

Ulquiorra shook his head. Grimmjow, searching for a reason not to punch his employer in the face, asked through gritted teeth, "Why?"

"What for?"

This time, anger did erupt from the butler's voice. "What for? _What for?_ Hello, Mr. Handsome Billionaire, don't tell me you ain't have any instinct to… ugh, how antisocial can you be!"

"Why would I do something I don't need to?"

"_Need_?" snorted the blue-haired Arrancar, "Don'tcha _want_ it? Have you evah wanted anythin'?"

His employer gave a deep contemplation before coming up with the firm answer of "no."

"Moneyed narcissist!" Grimmjow growled when Ulquiorra walked past him. "Argh, forget it, I bet da chicks would even scatter when dey get to know your gloomy mood!"

***

Only minutes after beginning to peruse documents for Schiffer's Corporation back in his study room, Ulquiorra's mind drifted back to the conversation with Grimmjow. While his butler assumed that he wanted nothing because he was only interested in himself, and that he could afford to buy anything which struck his fancy before desire came into play, he could not agree with that conclusion. He had no special interest for anything or anyone, himself included. He did not even posses the desire to _desire_… save for one thing: revenge.

There was one thing his butler said, however, that refused to leave his mind: why, why had he indeed come to enjoy company of late, especially as the companions were troublesome children, no less cocky and obnoxious than their brother? Ulquiorra's world had been centered on Alfred and himself before he met Grimmjow, and though brash, loud, violent-tempered, generally unskilled in his duties, and possessed of a singularly grating personality… his new butler had made more of an impression on him, in the short amount of time since they'd met, than his family's loyal servant had in the many years before.

Seeing how that irascible blue-haired butler of his had dealt with his adopted siblings−rough and coarse and utterly undignified he might be, but he showed an amazing amount of endurance and tolerance for them. Though they fought and bickered and complained and made a terrible mess, it was obvious that the ersatz 'little brothers' had a great respect−and even love−for Grimmjow. The children were so full of life and energy that they reminded Ulquiorra Schiffer of a past he had lived−and lost.

This new butler had shown him a different side of life, a world where the sun and the moon were not eclipsed by the numbness of death and loss and revenge. Grimmjow had a simple soul, one that taught him persistence, tolerance, mercy, and most of all, of companionship−a bond of the deepest level, intangible and indescribable. It had the camaraderie of those who had fought wars alongside each other, an understanding closer than kin, and the warmth of a greater potential.

The multi-billionaire stood and walked over to one side of the room. The wall had been caved out and attached with shelves flanked by a pair of swirling Acanthus Corinthian-style half columns. Reaching up, he took the framed photograph of the Schiffers from one of these shelves. This was the last family picture of them: their deaths had occurred the following week. His late parents were smiling, holding him with arms about his shoulders in the photo. On the contrary, he was not smiling in the picture; his face had already been serious even in young life, though it lacked the masklike sobriety he gained in death. What made Ulquiorra pause in deepest thought, however, was the fact that he, for one briefest moment, imagined what it would have been like if he'd had a younger brother like Grimmjow… or even if the Arrancar himself had been his brother.

Perhaps the six-year-old Grimmjow would snatch his pancake and when he complained, their mother would reprimand them both, and turn to her husband for assistance. Their father, nonetheless, would sigh and bury himself in the newspaper, too tired to desire a confrontation in his own home.

Ulquiorra put the photo frame back on the shelf. His arm paused as sand trickled down from the ceiling above him. Ulquiorra rubbed the fine particles between his fingers and frowned, it was sawdust, not sand. His house was made of the finest materials; it shouldn't crumble without a good cause. Eyes narrowing, the lord of the manor activated his Pesquisa. Gradually, a faint−or rather, concealed−reiatsu that was neither his butler's nor his own was detected.

Guessing to whom the reiatsu belonged, Ulquiorra greeted the uninvited guest, "You've come at last, Don Barragan Luisenbarn."

"My name has reached Gotham's top plutocrat; I'm honored," came the reply. The tone was neither sincere nor sarcastic; it was insensate. Slowly, a mirage-like skeleton made its appearance.

***

After a weird dream involving getting himself measured for an evening _gown_–The Ripper's mockery still annoyed him to that extent−Grimmjow woke up in disgust. His throat felt dry too; therefore, he went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. On the way, he noticed the lights in his employer's study had not been extinguished.

_Ulquiorra's not __da type who'd fell asleep wi'h da lights still on_, he thought while knocking on the door. There was no answer, so he took the liberty to open it. The room was empty, with Ulquiorra's usually neat papers scattered on the floor, some of them bearing blood spatters.

_He'll be back by tomorrow,_ Grimmjow assured himself. Wasn't Ulquiorra the strongest Arrancar he had ever met so far? He deliberately ignored the meaning of the blood splatters, even though he could tell by the scent that they were his boss'. And that one of the scents he most hated−the scent of dry rot and grave-dust and musty cellars−permeated the room.

_Screw dat__. I ain't gettin' involved wi'h whatev'r's gone t'hell now._ Grimmjow grumbled determinedly to himself, returning to his bedroom.

His vow of non-interference was easier said than followed. The clock ticked slowly, time dragging by with each second feeling like an hour. Grimmjow growled: patience was never his forte. He rolled all over his bed, tossing and turning and at one point putting a tear in his sheet−which made him growl all the louder, knowing he'd have to _learn now to_ _sew_ it−but could not get back to sleep. After swearing aloud, he got up and washed his face, intending to start his day.

Staring at his own reflection in the three-sided bathroom mirror, the butler stood statuesquely. Why should he care if Ulquiorra Schiffer were to die, distant and dispassionate as he was? In fact, had there ever been a day when this pampered prince accepted any invitation to speak unless necessity demanded him to? Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez had been shifting from one employer to another; this one was supposed to be no different just because they happened to be fellow Arrancar. So what if he was also an orphan whose family had been murdered? And so what if they both shared a strong desire for revenge? And…

Clenching his fists, Grimmjow stared at his reflection. The tattoo that used to belong to Ulquiorra was now etched in his skin: his back bore the number 'four' he'd gained after defeating The Ripper−Nnoitra, the brat had called him−the same night Ulquiorra had gained Shark's number 'three.'

"DAMMIT!"

Grimmjow punched his own reflection in the mirror furiously and stormed off. He knew his chances of defeating any enemy who managed to defeat Ulquiorra−no, Batman, his superior−were slim to none. Still, he if left Ulquiorra alone, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

_I really gotta get over dis sof'-sp__aut I gawt for awrphans,_ he grumbled to himself, _It causes way too much trouble._

***

Once he cornered a pickpocket in a dark alley and let his fists do the talking, it was not difficult for the butler to learn where Don Luisenbarn's main headquarters were. The real problem arose while getting in since the lair was filled to the brim with low-level Arrancar. Using his Resurección, Grimmjow took them out as swiftly as he could, raking with his talons, slashing throats, pummeling bodies, and blasting away with blue Cero. Even though these Arrancar were generally even weaker than the one who'd broken into Ulquiorra's mansion, their quantity made up for their lack of quality. Dealing with four at once, he would be swarmed by a dozen more. Cuts traced a lattice over his skin, some shallow, others not. And though he made steady headway through the throng, that headway was slow−far, far too slow for his needs. Cuts littered his body and his muscles tightened with fatigue.

Pantherman was aware while he was forced to waste his time on these small fries, Batman's life was at stake. He emitted his Gran Rey Cero, concluding the battle with one enormous blast. Bleeding and exhausted after defeating at least forty Arrancar, the white panther sucked the remaining energy from the dead to replenish his energy and heal himself.

Even though he performed the Gonzui as quickly as he could, before he finished, a green beam lashed out, nearly piercing him through. Had he not dodged in the eleventh hour, the familiar attack would have lanced right through his chest, leaving a smoking hole in his sternum. He sensed a familiar reiatsu as he skidded to a stop in front of the far wall−reinforced to withstand minor brawls between Arrancar−and raised his head to stare his attacker in the face.

"What's da meaning of dis…," he growled at the black-winged creature before him, "… _Batman_?!"

* * *

In case it isn't clear enough, the ones that the copycat imitated in this chapter are: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (appearance only) Cirucci Thunderwitch (appearance and ability, but not gender), Zommari Leroux (ability only), Gantenbainne Mosqueda (appearance and ability), Dordonii Alessandro Del Socacchio (appearance and ability), Shiba Kaien (appearance and ability) and Aaroniero Arruruerie (appearance and ability).


End file.
